


A Somewhat Odd Alliance

by ughmycroft



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blindfolds, Light Bondage, M/M, Voyeurism, dub con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ughmycroft/pseuds/ughmycroft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft knows he should leave the moment he enters Sherlock's flat to see John Watson tied up and gagged on the living room floor. It's his own damnable attraction to his brothers flatmate that forces his legs forward until he is bending down inches away from John's face. The slightly quicker breathing and visibly pounding heartbeat under his jaw leave him no other choice except to touch his cheek softly, and with the utmost care. Does it matter what he does to John, while he believes it to be Sherlock, it's just a simple white lie, isn't it?</p><p>[eventual holmescest and johnlock centric, initially however it will be johncroft centric, focusing on Mycroft and John's new relationship in regards to Sherlock and John's old relationship while bringing up Sherlock and Mycroft's own strained relationship.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I choose to label this dub con and not rape because I feel like while John does not know that this is Mycroft and not Sherlock by consenting to this he is consenting to things that might happen while he's under constraints. I'm not promoting rape only trying to one anyone who might be triggered because I didn't tag rape/non con in the archive warnings because basically john wants the dick, even if he doesn't realize it's Mycroft.
> 
> visit me/ ask questions at baelfire.com

The rain dripped along the tinted window blurring the world outside to Mycroft's all encompassing inner eye. He felt strange not being able to see every detail of the world around him, and yet oddly comforted by the lack of sensations normally bombarding him. It reminded him every so often that he was in fact human and not the robot so many people believed him to be. His suit was pinstriped, silver buttons done up elegantly, showcasing the weight he had recently lost. A smirk cracked on his face at Sherlock's text a few days ago, so politely put, "Congratulations fat arse. -SH." And to think that man was currently dating John Watson, it made him wonder how such a partnership was possible. He was sure if he looked he could of course find the answers he was seeking, but looking meant that other details would be available to him as well and he shuddered to think what those thoughts would do to him. He might never sleep again.

His car was pulling to a stop as he grabbed his umbrella, almost too excited that for the first time in weeks he would get to do more than simply twirl it. Yes, it had been weeks since the last rain in london and he felt more than uncomfortable at the prospect of a dry London. Half of the reason he had agreed to take the government position here, other than the excellent perks and pay, was so that he could make good use of his umbrella collection. Sherlock had his different types of ash but at least Mycroft's obsessions made sense. He walked slowly towards 221b, the pitter patter of the rain soothing his frayed nerves from work. He wondered as he entered the flat whether or not he would have to suffer through Mrs. Hudson's dismal small talk before entering his brother's flat. As much as he enjoyed being bored to death he needed Sherlock to take this case. A government official accused of rape was no laughing matter especially with the newest election a few weeks away. He felt a bit nauseous as he climbed the stairs at the thought of such a scandal. His team was barely keeping the so called 'victim' out of the media spotlight. As of yesterday he'd still spotted no evidence for the claims, but rather than call her a liar, he'd rather have proof the politician wasn't a dirty prick. Of course, he'd never had the appetite for legwork, whereas Sherlock was excellent at such things.

Mycroft paused, first taking in the barely cracked doorway to Sherlock's living room. It felt wrong suddenly, the door was always open, or closed. Sherlock always made sure of that, he hated middle ground. Mycroft crept up towards the door, fitting his head quietly against the frame where he could peek inside without alerting anyone of his presence. The first thing he noted was Sherlock's absence, odd enough, but not nearly odd enough to distract him from a writhing John who kneeled, bound and gagged before him. It took him only moments to deduce John's situation. A gift from Sherlock, obviously, implanted in his arse, deep enough to give him pleasure as it stroked his prostate. John was inches away from an orgasm, his legs were yet to begin shaking, and the ropes were just tight enough to keep him from fully pleasuring himself. He mouth hung open, shaky breaths were being sucked in and out, and saliva from his overstimulated lips was dripping down his face, sweat beading across his naked lower back and collarbone. He felt something stir inside of him as John whimpered in desperation. With the final deduction that Sherlock was in fact not in the flat he silently opened the door, making sure that John didn't notice his presence. He sat his umbrella near the door, aware that such an item would give him away should John find a way to touch him.

He walked across the remaining distance between them, taking care not to make a sound, stepping lightly around all the creaks in their flats floor. He lowered himself in front of John, his gaze now eye level with John's somewhat wanton expression. It felt as though his body had turned on autopilot, his mind was screaming for him to leave, that there was no way Sherlock wasn't near, that this was bloody his, and he should run before he did something he couldn't take back. John perked, hypersensitive to the sound of his breathing, he tried to move closer, unable to with his situation. Mycroft moved his hand towards John's cheek trying to alleviate some of his desperation. John leaned into the touch, his lips in a worn out smile around the gag, he was murmuring something but Mycroft decided he didn't want to know what it was. It was headrush believing that this was for him, that John wanted him near and not his prodigal brother Sherlock. The blind fold wrapped around his eyes was thick enough satin that he had no worries that John would realize the difference between himself and his brother especially if he kept his distance, no kissing, no frottage, and of course no moaning out John's name in a bout of weakness.

He spent the next few minutes lightly mapping out John's face, trying his best to memorize the younger man features. It occurred to him through his lust filled haze that just moments ago he'd never thought of John in such a way and he had never imagined himself interested in touching him so softly that he questioned whether he'd actually made contact at all. John was quiet now, save for the soft intakes of breath he took when Mycroft's feather soft touch found a new area to memorize. His hand was gently palming John's arse, barely applying pressure, avoiding the plug that was now threatening to slip out with the amount of lubrication dripping down from John's weeping cock. As he fondled him, he took in his scarred shoulder. Aware of the blunt trauma and pain associated with such a wound. It hurt him deeply seeing the marred skin near such beautiful unmarked skin. He dipped his head down, running his tongue slowly over the skin, listening to John's sudden muffled moans. A few more swipes of his tongue had John thrusting towards him, his glistening cock dangerously close to his expensive suit. The thought flitted away when he moved up licking and exploring his way up to John's neck, a delicious expanse of salty skin created tendrils of electricity across his tongue.

He leaned back onto his haunches, running a hand down John's worn out face, a gentle kiss placed against his cheek. His brain suddenly reconnected, and he stood, somewhat stiffly, taking one last glance before turning around to take his leave. Sherlock's tall frame gave him a fright, one that he was unable to mask in his current state, leaning casually against the flat's door frame, effectively blocking his only exit. It took him no more than a split second to concede to himself that jumping out the window would cause him exponentially more harm than taking Sherlock one-on-one. He readied himself, dropping slightly, his pose much less susceptible to Sherlock's fighting tricks. Sherlock merely smiled, walking towards him, umbrella in hand. He handed it to Mycroft, a smirk plastered across his pale features, before silently raising his arm towards the door. Mycroft felt nauseated about the entire thing, running through the door frame towards the safety of his car. He was nearly out of the flat when he heard Sherlock coo into John's ear, "Did you enjoy that? Would you like to come now?" The words sent a spark towards his groin and he found himself nearly stumbling out into the street leaping, for lack of a better word, into the safety of the vehicle. He quickly motioned the driver to his estate where he was already planning to drink himself into a temporary form of amnesia.


	2. Chapter 2

Anthea was staring at him, confusion written across her beautiful features. She sat across from him, ankles crossed daintily, a pencil skirt in light gray, and a blue silk shirt with ruffles adorning her chest. It dipped low showcasing her collarbone and the top of her voluptuous chest. Her hair normally let down was loosely gathered up into a bun, a more casual look now that the end of the day pulled nearer. It was true, he mused, at one point he'd fancied her and showered her with extravagant gifts - her prized cell phone one of them. She, of course had been mindful of his (very deeply, he thought) concealed feelings, admitting to him after a few weeks of courting that she was sorry but that she preferred woman. He'd laughed when she told him later, when they were friends, allies, and partners that she had tried so hard to be attracted to him but that the thought of flat breasts made her sad. He told himself to stop letting his mind wander, he didn't it to wander back to the events in Sherlock's flat this evening - that was something he couldn't stand to pick apart with logic at the moment.

"Problem, Anthea?" He gripped his umbrella a bit tighter but otherwise showed no emotion other than his normally even expression of polite cheerfulness. She's staring at him, her mouth pulled into a firm but polite smile. Anthea looks as she normally does but he notes that her fingers have paused on her keyboard, a sign that scares him slightly. She'd barely shown that much of a reaction when the last 'almost' world war nearly started. He reminded himself to check on that blasted little country mafia again.

"You're perplexed. You've obviously forgotten I have live footage from your umbrella tie pin, so yes, I know what's bothering you. Do you need anything to help your situation?"

Mycroft felt his heart rate rise rapidly, his cheeks filling with a flushed color. The information brought him up short, _how could he forget a detail like that?_ He opened his mouth to speak but he couldn't say anything, a deep shame permeating his entire being.

"Sir, calm down. I'm not going to comment, merely advise that you should visit a local pub, find someone that could ... take your mind off of such a situation." She was now turned back to her phone, ignoring his unusual behavior. He took a few moments to reestablish his guard and banish the emotions draping his face with something that feigned disinterest.

"Ah, yes, great idea. Do drop me off at a more upscale part of town, yes? I'd hate for my appearance to scare off potential business partners." Neither made any further comments and Mycroft found that was exactly what he needed; a beer, a fuck, and a good nights sleep. He made use of his extra clothing, a bit less formal than his suit, a soft, comfortable white shirt, the sleeves rolled up loosely, dark jeans that fit just right on his legs and hips, as well as a black blazer atop that. He let Anthea play the role of his concerned friend as she tutted momentarily before messing up his hair slightly. He opened his mouth to object but she cut him off, holding a well-manicured finger to his mouth, "Boy's like a fun shag, your hair was not telling me you're a fun shag." She sat back a small smile on her lips. He couldn't help himself, a smirk forming, "Oh, certainly, and pray tell, what was it saying originally?"

Anthea didn't miss a beat, not sparing him an upwards glance, as he stood to leave the car, "It said I'm a desperate, old bastard." He left his umbrella in the car, rolling his eyes in irritation as she shut the door, and instructed the car to drive around for a bit while he stayed inside. His phone dinged as he walked up to the bouncer, Chuck, he chanced a quick glance, "I'm not mad.-SH", a few more seconds passed as he identified himself to Chuck, "Please, respond. You're behaving childishly. -SH" The bouncer let him in immediately, aware of his generous funding to the club. He preferred to make sure he'd be comfortable if the urge to partake in tomfoolery ever accosted him.

The bar looked electric with the neon lights surrounding it, ladies with large busts danced near it, and stout men sat there drinking whiskeys and letting their dicks get hard in plain sight with arousal. Mycroft let a grin come over his face, this was exactly where he needed to be tonight. The bar held a few patrons that were not watching the girls, sipping their drinks with their eyes averted. He spotted those with homosexual tendencies quickly, unsurprised that the most attractive of the three homosexuals sitting there was texting, avoiding the entire situation.

He walked up, determined to order him a drink, and possibly an order of debauchery on the side. His mobile phone's ringtone rang incessantly on his way over, and he jerked it out of his pocket in order to silence it. Within minutes he'd already received four more calls from his brother. The boy really was the bane of his existence. WIth one last look at his prey he walked towards the bathrooms answering his brother on the third ring, "WHAT, Sherlock!"

As expected Sherlock wasted no time with niceties. "Where are you, Mycroft?"

"Brother dear, that isn't your business."

"Is that music, Mycroft?"

"I'm going now. Goodbye."

He knew as he hung up that Sherlock would know where he was, the DJ shouting his street performing name, DJ Peace, loudly over the intercom system before he could hang up. He estimated he had ten minutes before Sherlock arrived and promptly tried to remove him from the club in order to talk about the events that had transpired. He waded through the bodies of the adults dancing, their erotic sounds reminding him constantly of John's wanton, desperate moans earlier. The gentlemen he was approaching from earlier had noticed him, quickly covering up his phone, _Cheating and looking to experiment._ He leaned against the counter ordering the man a drink, before grinning, "The names Mycroft. I have a simple offer for you." The gentleman leaned in slightly, breathing in the musky smell that Mycroft's arousal was emitting. He could hear the younger man humming approval at him. "We're going to relocate to the bathrooms, and you're going to give me a blowjob. How about that?" The younger man had the decency to feign indignation but his growing grin undermined his acting, "Sounds like a plan." He chugged his drink before grabbing Mycroft's hand and leading them to the dimly lit toilets. 

Mycroft wondered where the pub had put the money he donated, it apparently wasn't put into the bathroom which lacked doors. The walls were covered in crumbling dark red wallpaper, numbers and names etched, and written upon it. The sinks were made of a stone texture, set directly into the counter, and the mirror was foggy from the perspiration of it's occupants. The door stalls were made of aluminum painted a mint green and it reminded Mycroft of why he avoided such unpleasant places. He refocused on the man, in the bathroom stalls floor, as he slipped his hands into Mycroft's pants, palming his throbbing erection. "I want to lap you up, Mycroft." He let his head fall against the wall, aware of public nature of their act - anyone could see them, and that made him even more aroused. The younger man was deep throating him now, his lack of a gag reflex apparent to Mycroft even before he took down all nine inches of his cock. The man was tugging at his own erection when the bathroom door slammed open, "MYCROFT, YOU BLOODY IDIOT. GET OUT HERE NOW." Mycroft shoved at the man suckling his cock, trying his best to redress his nether regions before Sherlock made it to them. He breathed a sigh of relief when he finished doing his trousers, his cock straining against the fabric, entirely noticeable, as was the red that splayed across his neck and cheeks. It would have appeared that Mycroft was entirely clothed, and simply standing next to a nude man that was still still fucking his own hand with abandon to any normal person. Mycroft rolled his eyes before leaving the stall, pushing past Sherlock who was eyeing him with distaste. 

"Sherlock, leave. Now." Mycroft's voice was flat and even, but not lacking in a certain Holmesian venom. He leaned over the dirty bathroom sink avoiding his own appearance in the mirror. Sherlock was standing behind him now, out of place in his black coat. He closed the distance, reaching around Mycroft and cupping his wilting erection, gently rolling it in his elegant hand. He sucked in a surprised gasp his eyes shooting up to connect with Sherlock's in the misty mirror. 

"Now, Mycroft, I'm sorry about earlier, I didn't realize you'd be visiting. I'd never had planned such a scheme without alerting you, especially with your crush on John." Mycroft made an aborted sound in his throat, attempting to deny the accusation, but Sherlock continued, pressing his brother against the counter, bending him slightly, his own semi-erect penis rubbing against his brother's arse. "Now, now, Mycroft, I know you didn't realize you liked him. Otherwise you would have been able to hide it, no, instead you had all these natural signals that you didn't even notice."

A few silent moments between them helped Mycroft regain his voice, although he found his synapses misfiring with Sherlock's cock against his arse. Never in his life had he ever imagined Sherlock to touch him this way, he hadn't even known such an activity between them would pleasurable much less a reality between them.

"I brought John you know," Sherlock whispered as he licked the inside of Mycroft's ear. The canal now becoming wetter with every lick. Mycroft started at the mention of John, trying to regain his strength to push his brother off, Sherlock held fast, rutting slightly. "Shhh, he doesn't know a thing. He thinks we're here to catch a dance with you. What would he have said if he'd caught you getting blown by a common two bit whore. Honestly, My, think a bit before you give into your animalistic pleasures." Sherlock was backing away from him now, looking more like he'd just been forced to watch a football game, a look of boredom in his eyes, than rutting against his brother in a bathroom. Mycroft watched as he turned to leave aware that he had nearly stained his pants with come, and that his face was blotchy with redness and sweat. "Hurry up, don't leave John waiting."

He splashed water over his face, his stomach still tying knots in between his bouts of nausea. _Was Sherlock interested in John, or himself? Was John interested in him, why would he want to see him? Was he actually interested in John, or was Sherlock playing with his mind while he was in such a sensitive position._ He tried to shake the thoughts out of his head as he walked out of the stall and over to Sherlock who was waving nonchalantly at him. Sherlock leaned down whispering in John's ear, a brief blush crept over John's features as he stole a glance at Mycroft. _Interesting, a quickened heartbeat, a rise in body heat, a slightly different gait -an erection! Dilated pupils, a firm grasp now on his own arm, leading him to the dance floor._

Mycroft shook himself out of his deductions, dance floor? Why was John Watson leading him towards the writhing mass, "Dr. Watson, what?" He didn't finish his sentence, John beginning to dance against him, turning around, bringing Mycroft's arm's down around his waist, as John's hips swiveled to the music, indulgently rubbing against Mycroft's pelvis. He felt taken aback by the brazen display, "DR. WATSON, what are you doing!" He was trying to step back but John held onto his wrists tight, he lifted his neck up trying to face more towards Mycroft's head behind him, "Sherlock said you were having a bad night, he suggested dancing. It's an aphrodisiac, y'know?" John kept talking but Mycroft focus was zoned in on Sherlock sitting smugly at the bar drinking a rum and coke. "Did he now, Doctor." John made a irritated noise before turning back towards Mycroft and jerking his head down roughly to look at him, "You can call me John, y'know." Mycroft looked at John wildly, his eyes wide, but otherwise lacking emotion, "Are you drunk Doct- John?" 

The younger man rolled his eyes, breaking his seduction momentarily before trying a different approach. He leaned dragging Mycroft's ear down to his mouth as his hand slid down to cup Mycroft's growing erection simultaneously whispering. "You have a very distinctive smell, did you know that Mycroft?" He made a strangled sound in throat aware of John's implications, but instinctively trying to play innocent, "Whatever are you speaking of John?" He gasped as John made sure to rut against him, lifting a hand to stroke the side of his face, "I was busy today, and I thought I caught your scent." He paused licking a stripe up Mycroft's neck, Mycroft moaned, letting his arousal overpower him momentarily, "I haven't been able to get you out of my mind." John's erection rubbed against him and Mycroft was overtaken with the desire to fuck him over Sherlock's couch. He paled as soon as the thought had formed at the idea of deliberately fucking his brother's boyfriend and flatmate. He shoved John away, trying desperately to reach the clubs doors. Sherlock was staring at him, his features beautifully displaying confusion as John walked towards him throwing his hands up in defeat. _Was this a ploy? Were they both trying to catch him red handed? To make fun of him much like they laughed at his diets. He was NO ONES joke._

A hand clasped his arm before he completed his trek towards the door, Sherlock stared at him with eyes that screamed immovability. "Mycroft, stop running away, John just wanted to dance. You always think there is some big picture you're missing, but there isn't!" He jerked Mycroft back towards the floor, towards a less than happy John, "There is NO big picture. John wants to dance with you. Now, dance!" Mycroft stood stiffly on the dance floor now, his impassive features screaming disinterest but his lower region obviously interested in John's touch. John, on the other hand, was less open now, the scene Mycroft previously made, has rendered John less interested in dancing, his hips barely touching Mycroft, his hands kept neatly to himself. Mycroft takes a deep breath, feeling stupid. He finally gets a chance with John, and his bloody morals keep him at bay. He feels John distance himself as the song ends. He turns to look at Mycroft, his eyes cast downward, (upset, his mind deduces) he takes Mycroft's hand slowly, giving him plenty of time to stop him, before placing it against his half limp erection. Mycroft took in a quick breath of air looking around him to make sure they were not being watched before allowing himself to lean more into the touch. John leans up, his voice nearly a whisper under the loud music, "This," he motions to their matching erections before casting a glance at a unaware Sherlock, "is our little secret, alright?" Mycroft dumbly nods before watching his brother and John leave the club, aware of the fact that Sherlock's hand has disappeared into the back of John's pants.

He takes a moment before finding his original prey and fucking him in the toilets. This week has barely started and already Mycroft feels overwhelmed.


End file.
